Page 107 of Rock Me

CHAPTER THIRTY

Jez

The cello is talking to me, mocking me.

I'm laying here on the couch staring out at a view of the replica of one of the most beautiful manmade objects in the world, and all I can hear is, “Fucking coward."

I turn to face the inside of the couch, pulling the cushion over my head, trying to drown out the taunts.

"Yeah, a cushion is going to drown out a hallucination. You're dumb and a coward. Geez."

For fuck's sake. I can't even blame it on alcohol. I'm completely, utterly, sober

And a pile of wood and strings is mocking me

Fuck this. I jump up from the couch and walk over to the cello. I grip the handle as tight as I can and drag it back to the couch with me.

"Alright, you and me, we're gonna talk," I tell it, my voice only wavering a little.

I lay the case down onto the floor and push down on the latch.

Click. Click. I ignore the shiver that travels up my spine.

I lift the lid and there she lays. A cello. A stranger, but beautiful. Familiar. I run my fingers along the smooth, polished wood and lift it from the case, ignoring the twinge in my wrist.

It's not too bad.

But it's there. just reminding me. It's there.

I release the bow from its hold.

A smile spreads across my mouth before I can stop it.

"Hello old friend," I whisper. It's not mine, but it doesn’t matter. We'll all old friends.

My right hand grips the bow. My fingers are a little stiff but I bend them anyway, breathing a sigh of relief when it holds. Loose, but not falling from my fingers like in the early days of trying to hold the pen.

"That was the easy part," I say to the cello. Who's stopped taunting me, by the way; instead I feel it now urging me on. Rooting for me.

I position the cello between my legs, letting it fall back to rest against me. A musician's relationship with his instrument is one of symbiosis.

Give. Take. Forward. Back. Play and be played. Life and birth. Of music.

My hands run up the strings all the way up, to curve around the neck. I grip the fingerplate tightly. It hurts, but it is bearable.

One more step forward.

My neck cradles the neck of the cello. Partners in arms.

I lift the bow and take a breath.

Have courage, Jez. I say, but it's Noémie's voice I hear.

If not for you, do this for her. Like she did for you on that stage. Believed in herself. And trusted you.

It's time.

I don't have to tell my fingers what song to play.